Thursday, June 9, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Despite Roadblocks Change is Status Quo for Inspired Seniors
Last year’s Student Comission president, Alex Morgan K’11, will tell you that when he first arrived on campus he didn’t have presidential aspirations. “Actually, When I came to college I said that I didn’t want to be a part of any organization, I was here to study, and that was what I was going to do.”
But as his path through K will tell you, and most people who know Morgan will agree, this man was on a mission. A week after entering the school he had decided to run for office and soon there after knew that leadership was in his future.
After holding a number of roles with Student Commission throughout his four years, Morgan’s senior-year presidency “became much more about what was going on around campus than it had been in those other years.” So behind Morgan’s leadership, Student Commission squared its shoulders at enacting some positive change on campus.
Generating momentum around changes on campus is a personal specialty of one of Morgan’s fellow commissioners last year, Leeor Schweitzer, K’11. Schweitzer’s unrest with campus policies began in his first week on campus. After finding inconsistencies in the policies surrounding hookah use on campus during orientation week Schweitzer asserted himself early and met with Associate Dean of Students, Dana Jansma, during the first week of classes.
Despite the “legacy” that being openly opposed to the hookah policy for four years has left on K-College administrators, the policy has not changed and Leeor says “I still think the policy we have is ridiculous. The Dean of Students has agreed with me that it’s inconsistent and is still not willing to change it.”
So what legacy has the administration left on Schweitzer?: the realization that students and administrations are almost naturally antagonistic to each other. “I used to think that we (at K) were special in that we have this antagonistic relationship with the administration” but, he explained, after reflection and discussions with friends from other schools he began to realized how natural this antagonism is.
For both Morgan and Schweitzer antagonism from the administration looks very similar whether its the hookah policy, the good samaritan policy, or admission policies to campus events - ignore and delay. According to Schweitzer, the common threads from campaign to campaign were “extreme delaying tactics, ignoring e-mails, ignoring conversations, constantly going back on promises that were made in terms of time-lines, and pretending that conversations that had happened hadn’t happened.”
A perfect example of this is the Good Samaritan policy, a campaign that Schweitzer worked on as a member of Students for a Sensible Drug Policy (SSDP.) Although this campaign was after several policy reforms, the one agreed to by the administration was amnesty for students seeking medical help for friends whether they are intoxicated or not.
The hope was for this change to be enacted into the rule book. After an initial promise of six months, the change actually occurred after a drawn out two-years and the change wasn’t exactly what they were looking for. What they got was a note at the bottom of the alchohol policy explaining that students acting in the best interest of fellow students will “in most cases... be exempt from disciplinary action.”
According the Morgan, administrators such as Dean of Students, Sarah Westfall, and College President, Eileen Wilson-Oyelaran, often sited the behavior of Student Commission as producing breakdowns in dialogue. With the commotion surrounding event policies during last year’s Monte Carlo event as his example Morgan defended his actions.
Event policies such as the right to search students, zero-tolerance for intoxication even for students of-age, and no re-entry were on the agenda for student commission with Monte Carlo approaching. So at one of Student Commission’s regularly meetings with president Wilson-Oyelaran, Dean Westfall, and others, Morgan brought up his concerns. He was promptly met with a refusal to talk about the policies and the blanket response that the policies “‘would not be changed in time for Monte Carlo’ and the discussion couldn’t go anywhere,” Morgan explained.
The response was fierce. First came a resolution to survey the student body which showed a majority of the student body disagreed with the policies being discussed. A campaign ensued which included posters with student comments, a sit-in by Schweitzer, a call to the Gazette, a reach for faculty and staff support, and a walkout at Monte Carlo.
The reaction from the administration wasn’t particularly positive. Morgan explained that “when the Dean of Students, in a meeting, says that she has lost respect for you and that she thinks you more of a partisan advocate and less of a leader, that’s around the time when I have lost respect for you and we’re done working.”
After another round of ignore and delay, a re-entry policy was approved just shortly before crystal ball. The most disappointing part of it all for both Morgan and Schweitzer was that it distracted them from other agenda points that were more meaningful. Specifically, reform surrounding the housing system.
Here lies a characterization of both of these dedicated students, the drive to accomplish more. Despite there frustrations their work has done great things around campus. Student engagement surrounding these issues has continued to increase as a result of the organization, passion, and devotion to the issues they work on. There are two things that Kalamazoo College students who were touched by Morgan and Schweitzer’s work can surely agree on. One, there is little that can stand in the way of bright futures of both these gentlemen. Two, they will be sorely missed.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Reading Response
I found Aupperlee's articles inspiring like many of you. As Jon so eloquently pointed out, Aaron seems to have a good hold on the craft of his stories. Clearly he has interviewing and writing down to a science and these articles are well put together. But as all of you, my classmates, have focused on the positives of these articles I'm going to try and raise some problematics.
Sometimes these articles make great claims about, say Heroin, that seem sort of unfounded. For instance, in the first in the 3-part heroin series, there is a huge claim about how people can jump from pot to heroin very easily and the way that it is situated in the paper it seems like it is equally easy for someone to move from painkillers to heroin as it is to move from pot to heroin. Furthermore the only example of pot to heroin is from an unamed source who we never hear from again. Why even bring up this issue at all. The article seems to clearly be about people moving from painkillers to opiates with more than one example and great writing and statistics.
I'm also not sure why this needed a three-part series when Aupperlee keeps returning to the same examples over and over again.
In the third part of the series there in the first two paragraphs of the story Aaron sets up a contrast between 2000 when only 80 percent of the people at the rehab center made it through compared to 80 percent 10 years later but does not go on to explain or search for a reason why. Instead he goes back to a story weve already heard. And although some details are new some are not and I'm questioning why he feels the need to give background that any devoted reader of the paper would already know. I feel as though these could have easily been two articles, maybe one, and been even more compelling, less repetitive, and done a better job of asking those big questions.
Again, these are just the questions I had. I also really enjoyed the articles and am looking forward to class.
Sometimes these articles make great claims about, say Heroin, that seem sort of unfounded. For instance, in the first in the 3-part heroin series, there is a huge claim about how people can jump from pot to heroin very easily and the way that it is situated in the paper it seems like it is equally easy for someone to move from painkillers to heroin as it is to move from pot to heroin. Furthermore the only example of pot to heroin is from an unamed source who we never hear from again. Why even bring up this issue at all. The article seems to clearly be about people moving from painkillers to opiates with more than one example and great writing and statistics.
I'm also not sure why this needed a three-part series when Aupperlee keeps returning to the same examples over and over again.
In the third part of the series there in the first two paragraphs of the story Aaron sets up a contrast between 2000 when only 80 percent of the people at the rehab center made it through compared to 80 percent 10 years later but does not go on to explain or search for a reason why. Instead he goes back to a story weve already heard. And although some details are new some are not and I'm questioning why he feels the need to give background that any devoted reader of the paper would already know. I feel as though these could have easily been two articles, maybe one, and been even more compelling, less repetitive, and done a better job of asking those big questions.
Again, these are just the questions I had. I also really enjoyed the articles and am looking forward to class.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
My outline and who was my subject again?
Hi Everyone,
The intended publication for my article is Texas Monthly. I had fun writing this article thought it was challenging to fit all the information I found in researching the violence of Juarez in a cohesive way that contributed to the piece. Although my Franklin outline could still use some work and my article could still use some restructuring I see it this way so far:
Main conflict:
Violence threatens organization's ability to continue
A: Casas por Cristo employs passionate individuals
B: Personal experience and testimony convince others
Resolution:
Casas por Cristo finds a way to survive
I'm really looking forward to deepening this article with other perspectives on why people are still coming through first-hand accounts and anecdotes from other builders about Travis and Roberta's passion in follow-up interviews throughout this week. This is, after all, a profile about Travis and Roberta even though my outline stresses the organization. I tried to utilize their history with the organization and its proximity to the events that have threatened the organization's success by profiling Travis and Roberta as an extension of the organization. Does that work? I feel like it does and though the title of this post pokes fun at the difficulty I had in focusing on a particular subject I do believe that this tactic will work.
The intended publication for my article is Texas Monthly. I had fun writing this article thought it was challenging to fit all the information I found in researching the violence of Juarez in a cohesive way that contributed to the piece. Although my Franklin outline could still use some work and my article could still use some restructuring I see it this way so far:
Main conflict:
Violence threatens organization's ability to continue
A: Casas por Cristo employs passionate individuals
B: Personal experience and testimony convince others
Resolution:
Casas por Cristo finds a way to survive
I'm really looking forward to deepening this article with other perspectives on why people are still coming through first-hand accounts and anecdotes from other builders about Travis and Roberta's passion in follow-up interviews throughout this week. This is, after all, a profile about Travis and Roberta even though my outline stresses the organization. I tried to utilize their history with the organization and its proximity to the events that have threatened the organization's success by profiling Travis and Roberta as an extension of the organization. Does that work? I feel like it does and though the title of this post pokes fun at the difficulty I had in focusing on a particular subject I do believe that this tactic will work.
Casas por Cristo Survives
Going out for a Sunday drive is a way of life in El Paso. The powerful spring winds which, fuel dust storms that can block out the sun for much of April, can also push out pollution and provide for perfectly clear days.
A favorite destination for many El Paso drivers is undoubtedly Scenic Dr., a tight-winding two-lane road that curls along the slope of the Franklin Mountains. High above downtown El Paso, Scenic Drive provides breathtaking views of El Paso and Juarez to the south for miles.
Throughout April 2011 Sunday drivers flocking to Scenic Dr. shared their destination with church groups praying with a purpose. Their purpose was an end to the violence in Juarez.
Organized by El Paso for Jesus, an inter-denominational coalition of local Christian ministries, Prayers for Juarez is a campaign that organized a different church group to pray at the observation platform on Scenic Dr for 40 days throughout Lent.
Some pray for Juarez, a city ravaged by a bloody drug-war that has caused a spike in violence since 2008. The city’s murder rate since that time has risen at an astronomical rate, toping 3,000 murders in 2010.
While many are praying for the safety and well being of Juarez’s citizens Roberta and Travis Sanders have found a different way to make a difference. The Sanders’ are full time employees at Casas por Cristo, a non-profit organization based in El Paso that builds houses for families in need living in Juarez and Acuna, Mexico.
Their journey to El Paso starts with Roberta. From a young age Roberta watched her father, a preacher at a church in Mt. Carmel in southern Indiana, take groups of high school students on mission trips to Juarez every year. At the age of 14 she participated in her first Casas por Cristo build and was hooked.
Later, in college, Roberta and Travis started dating and in 2003 Roberta brought Travis on his first build. On that build one of the Casas por Cristo interns, Dan Dolcen, started to talk to Travis and Roberta about the opportunity to intern for a summer.
This is how things happen in Casas por Cristo, through personal testimony and convincing; and despite Roberta’s initial skepticism the two signed up to intern in the summer of 2006. Arriving on may 12th, what awaited them was a crash course in building a house and organizing a youth group.
For Travis “that first summer was kind of a nightmare just because the whole training program is so fast paced.” Within the first four weeks on the job interns had built two houses, co-led two builds, and were prepping to fly solo in week five, leading a church group into Juarez to build a 440 sq. foot house.
But despite the stress, and true to Dolcen’s testimony, the job grew on Travis and he took a full time position with Casas por Cristo. He has worked for Casas ever since and last September, Roberta started working full time.
In that time Travis has seen Juarez change. Less than a year after he started working full-time in El Paso he saw the violence escalate. In his first year on the job Juarez saw 300 deaths and the next year, in 2008, it saw over 1600.
Less than five years after that first summer, shortly after another church group had returned home after praying on scenic drive on a breezy El Paso Night, a local news report filled living rooms around the city with an hope-filled announcement. For the first three months of 2011 the murder rate in Juarez had slowed.
On the report El Paso for Jesus president, Barney Field, claimed that the prayers had been answered. With 183 murders in March the total for the year came to 643, how things had changed since 2007 when 300 murders for the year was a high number.
The Sanders’ have seen the city change in other ways too. Travis recalls that “on the east-side of Juarez, that first summer, I remember how wires scraped the top of our van because they had telephone poles made out of an eight foot two by four with a big U at the top and at least a thousand wires running through the big U. The wires couldn’t have hung hirer than seven feet.”
Now many of the dirt roads have turned to paved ones and on the east side of town, where Travis built most of his houses that first summer, the city has installed power lines and meters on most of the houses. There is also a multi-lane highway that circles the city, making things that used to take two hours to achieve take only 30 minutes. But with that added efficiency comes less traffic for Casas por Cristo.
Field’s prayers may have been answered but 643 murders in three months doesn’t answer one of the biggest challenges for the Sander’s ministry. When the violence first started escalating in 2008 one of Travis’ jobs was to answer the phones. “I remember back then three or four groups a day were calling to cancel. The good news, I think, is that we’ve seemed to bottom out.”
In 2008 Casas por Cristo achieved one of its highest build-rates at 400 homes. Media attention to the violence in Juarez swelled as church groups continued to cancel and Casas por Cristo struggled to reach 200 homes. Since then the organization has hovered just over 150 homes a year.
But while others stop coming some refuse. Among them is Roberta’s dad who still brings down high school students from southern Indiana, though the groups have become smaller.
Meanwhile Casas por Cristo has tightened up their policies. No driving at night, no separating into multiple groups, no going over to Juarez alone. So far these tactics have worked and the organization has not had a single violent interaction in the past five years.
Roberta answers the phones now and people still call with concerns about the violence. So what’s the best tactic in convincing church groups that coming down is worth the risk?, According to Travis it’s “a personal experience. Seeing it first hand and taking it back to their communities. That’s the only way people are going to believe its safe buts its also how you build passion for this ministry.”
To alleviate pressure Casas por Cristo has spread to Acuna, Mexico for those that find Juarez too dangerous and next summer will offer trips Guatemala for those who find Mexico in general too dangerous. But passion remains for Juarez as the Sanders’ explain that certain groups have tried trips to Acuna but come back to Juarez, “I think because they see that the need is so great here” Roberta adds.
If April’s report on the slowed violence proves to continue in the coming months then that will mean that analysts the Autonomous University of Juarez projection of 5,000 murders for 2011 was off this year. Researchers there gather data throughout Juarez, which they use to make statistical projections surrounding various issues around the city. Their projection for 2010 of 3,000 murders came close and other projections, like 8,500 orphans in the city by 2012 echo Roberta’s assertion that the need is great in Juarez.
For now Juarez has allies in Roberta and Travis and twelve others who come from around the country with the same cause. And with them they bring their congregations. Groups like Roberta’s father who carry a passion for Juarez and they bring something which, for them, is much stronger. They bring faith.
Friday, April 22, 2011
A Trip Across the Border: round 2
Here is my second attempt at our personal essay. I'm hoping I did a better job of showing rather than telling, let me know what you think. You can find my outline and desired publication under the comments section.
"Please," she begged, "you need to start becoming motivated by something larger than yourself." It was not the first time my mother had given me this lecture, but that did not increase the attention I paid to her. This time it came as my family filed out of our lavished church, a towering building with an ornate green-tiled roof and gold trim that gleamed in the bright desert sun. I stood on the steps craning my gaze to investigate the cause of a billowing plume of smoke rising from amongst the dirt roads and tiny houses across the river.
Inside we had just heard about the newest opportunity to help our 'brothers and sisters' in need across the border. My mother gleamed with excitement as our pastor, father Rick, explained the details of a volunteer day at one of our local missions. I had blocked out as much as I could, pondering which video game I would vegetate in front of once back at home.
My hometown of El Paso, Texas is a city that straddles the U.S.-Mexico border and bottlenecks between the Franklin Mountains and the Juarez Mountains. This is a land marked by dichotomies. Throughout my teens the most stark of these dichotomies came in the fact that El Paso was one of the top five safest cities with a population over 500,000 in the country, while across the Rio Grande (which, that far south is so dry most of the year it's hardly accurate to call it Rio much less Grande) Juarez was frequently referred to as the most dangerous city in the world outside of war zones.
When the crime rate in Juarez first started creating national attention there were few signs that Juarez would soon be the most dangerous city in the world. My own family frequented Juarez to visit Gaby, my godmother, during her decadent ranch-parties. Gaby's parties brought together diverse groups of people but their demeanors remained calm and conversation seldom strayed from congenial topics.
Later, as I began to learn more and more about differences between populations in classes like Geography and World History and I was introduced to the concept of a third-world country, I was still no closer to understanding what about Juarez made it 'third-world' as opposed to the 'developed world' that lay a stone's-throw away in El Paso. The visits to Gaby continued and the signs remained hidden even though the crime-rate increased and Juarez came ever-closer to garnering its morbid record.
In 9th grade I ventured over the river without my family for the first time. On a scorching-hot day my friend Tomas and I scurried over the 'puente-libre' and where Santa Fe avenue met Juarez avenue we ducked into the dim-lit Kentucky Club. The cold air instantly refreshed us as we shuffled into a bright-red booth and surveyed the smoky, crowded room, mariachi music drifiting in from the kitchen.
I struck up conversation about the famous writers who had frequented this bar. Tomas wasn't much of a reader. Names like Kerouac or Hemingway didn't mean much to him. His order of business was getting drunk, so I obliged.
On the way home, as we passed the corner of Juarez and Santa Fe I ignored the small dirt roads of the colonias to my left. Walking back over the bridge my eyes drifted towards the north-east, to the sub-division where my parents now slept, settled in the foothills of the mountains a short two-miles away. My mind wandered to my parents. I was more focused on weather or not I would be grounded for missing curfew than reveling in my new-found independence.
During my Junior year of High School several student-groups at my small, catholic high school had fundraiser to allow for 25 students to participate in 'Casas por Cristo' - a non-profit organization based in Juarez that builds small, two-room homes for families in need living in the extreme poverty of the 'colonias' or small shanty towns that dot the outskirts of Juarez. My mother's demand that I start volunteering still fresh in my mind, I signed up reluctantly.
The next day, just over the bridge our van made a sharp turn at Juarez and Santa Fe and onto dirt roads that made our journey more like a ride on a bronco in the rodeo than a twelve-passenger van. Twenty minutes later we arrived at an empty lot in between two houses that seemed more like haphazard heaps of wood scraps, cardboard, and battered tarps than homes. Looking around I found myself lost despite the fact that our sub-division was still in clear view at the foothills of the Franklins to the north-east.
Throughout the week my classmates and I poured concrete, built a house-frame, installed electricity, put up dry-wall, insulated, and even had time to decorate the new home of the seven-person (and soon to be eight-person) Gonzalez family. Day by day a certain disdain grew inside me whenever I found my eyes drifting towards the shiny rooftops of the mansions which littered our sub-division.
Once the walls of the house were up I immediately became concerned. I continually tried imagining what seven bodies would look like crammed inside this tiny home, marching my friends in and out to have a firm example. Juan, our stock young guide, reassured me that this was far superior to what the Gonzalez family had now. I wasn't convinced but the house was almost done and would have to do.
Soon, I found myself not wanting to leave at the end of the day. As the sun began to dwindle over the dusty streets I was strangely drawn to the place that many were working so hard to leave or improve. We were beginning to make friends with the neighborhood boys and our ride home every night was a bitter reminder that they would soon be but distant memories.
Returning home at night, covered from head to toe in dirt, I was confronted with trivial issues. "Your getting the couch dirty, go take a shower, your filthy," my mother would exclaim, chasing me into the bathroom. Five minutes later a banging would come at the door as my sister would whine, "Patrick, you've been in there forever. I have an important date. Patrick!" Her booming shouts were hopeless, my mind was fixed back at the Gonzalez'.
At the end of the week I watched in amazement as a young couple raising three children, a nephew, and a younger sister arrived on a foggy April morning, tears streaming down their faces, to see their new home. My fears that what we had built would certainly be inadequate for such a big family were washed away as I received heart-felt hugs accompanied by sobs of gratitude from each and every member of the family.
After unveiling the house we gathered down the street to pray in front of the neighborhood's modest adobe-roof home. We prayed for an end to poverty and to the violence that ravaged Juarez. I would no longer ignore the opportunities father Rick presented in mass, I resolved.
On the ride home it wasn't the thought of my mother's looming punishment for not cleaning my room that filled my mind, it was the image of the crying Gonzalez family.
As we crested the apex of the bridge I had crossed so many times before, my eyes were no longer focused on the mansions that surrounded my own home. Rather, my eyes were pressed up against the window, my gaze focused on the dirt roads to the south-west.
"Please," she begged, "you need to start becoming motivated by something larger than yourself." It was not the first time my mother had given me this lecture, but that did not increase the attention I paid to her. This time it came as my family filed out of our lavished church, a towering building with an ornate green-tiled roof and gold trim that gleamed in the bright desert sun. I stood on the steps craning my gaze to investigate the cause of a billowing plume of smoke rising from amongst the dirt roads and tiny houses across the river.
Inside we had just heard about the newest opportunity to help our 'brothers and sisters' in need across the border. My mother gleamed with excitement as our pastor, father Rick, explained the details of a volunteer day at one of our local missions. I had blocked out as much as I could, pondering which video game I would vegetate in front of once back at home.
My hometown of El Paso, Texas is a city that straddles the U.S.-Mexico border and bottlenecks between the Franklin Mountains and the Juarez Mountains. This is a land marked by dichotomies. Throughout my teens the most stark of these dichotomies came in the fact that El Paso was one of the top five safest cities with a population over 500,000 in the country, while across the Rio Grande (which, that far south is so dry most of the year it's hardly accurate to call it Rio much less Grande) Juarez was frequently referred to as the most dangerous city in the world outside of war zones.
When the crime rate in Juarez first started creating national attention there were few signs that Juarez would soon be the most dangerous city in the world. My own family frequented Juarez to visit Gaby, my godmother, during her decadent ranch-parties. Gaby's parties brought together diverse groups of people but their demeanors remained calm and conversation seldom strayed from congenial topics.
Later, as I began to learn more and more about differences between populations in classes like Geography and World History and I was introduced to the concept of a third-world country, I was still no closer to understanding what about Juarez made it 'third-world' as opposed to the 'developed world' that lay a stone's-throw away in El Paso. The visits to Gaby continued and the signs remained hidden even though the crime-rate increased and Juarez came ever-closer to garnering its morbid record.
In 9th grade I ventured over the river without my family for the first time. On a scorching-hot day my friend Tomas and I scurried over the 'puente-libre' and where Santa Fe avenue met Juarez avenue we ducked into the dim-lit Kentucky Club. The cold air instantly refreshed us as we shuffled into a bright-red booth and surveyed the smoky, crowded room, mariachi music drifiting in from the kitchen.
I struck up conversation about the famous writers who had frequented this bar. Tomas wasn't much of a reader. Names like Kerouac or Hemingway didn't mean much to him. His order of business was getting drunk, so I obliged.
On the way home, as we passed the corner of Juarez and Santa Fe I ignored the small dirt roads of the colonias to my left. Walking back over the bridge my eyes drifted towards the north-east, to the sub-division where my parents now slept, settled in the foothills of the mountains a short two-miles away. My mind wandered to my parents. I was more focused on weather or not I would be grounded for missing curfew than reveling in my new-found independence.
During my Junior year of High School several student-groups at my small, catholic high school had fundraiser to allow for 25 students to participate in 'Casas por Cristo' - a non-profit organization based in Juarez that builds small, two-room homes for families in need living in the extreme poverty of the 'colonias' or small shanty towns that dot the outskirts of Juarez. My mother's demand that I start volunteering still fresh in my mind, I signed up reluctantly.
The next day, just over the bridge our van made a sharp turn at Juarez and Santa Fe and onto dirt roads that made our journey more like a ride on a bronco in the rodeo than a twelve-passenger van. Twenty minutes later we arrived at an empty lot in between two houses that seemed more like haphazard heaps of wood scraps, cardboard, and battered tarps than homes. Looking around I found myself lost despite the fact that our sub-division was still in clear view at the foothills of the Franklins to the north-east.
Throughout the week my classmates and I poured concrete, built a house-frame, installed electricity, put up dry-wall, insulated, and even had time to decorate the new home of the seven-person (and soon to be eight-person) Gonzalez family. Day by day a certain disdain grew inside me whenever I found my eyes drifting towards the shiny rooftops of the mansions which littered our sub-division.
Once the walls of the house were up I immediately became concerned. I continually tried imagining what seven bodies would look like crammed inside this tiny home, marching my friends in and out to have a firm example. Juan, our stock young guide, reassured me that this was far superior to what the Gonzalez family had now. I wasn't convinced but the house was almost done and would have to do.
Soon, I found myself not wanting to leave at the end of the day. As the sun began to dwindle over the dusty streets I was strangely drawn to the place that many were working so hard to leave or improve. We were beginning to make friends with the neighborhood boys and our ride home every night was a bitter reminder that they would soon be but distant memories.
Returning home at night, covered from head to toe in dirt, I was confronted with trivial issues. "Your getting the couch dirty, go take a shower, your filthy," my mother would exclaim, chasing me into the bathroom. Five minutes later a banging would come at the door as my sister would whine, "Patrick, you've been in there forever. I have an important date. Patrick!" Her booming shouts were hopeless, my mind was fixed back at the Gonzalez'.
At the end of the week I watched in amazement as a young couple raising three children, a nephew, and a younger sister arrived on a foggy April morning, tears streaming down their faces, to see their new home. My fears that what we had built would certainly be inadequate for such a big family were washed away as I received heart-felt hugs accompanied by sobs of gratitude from each and every member of the family.
After unveiling the house we gathered down the street to pray in front of the neighborhood's modest adobe-roof home. We prayed for an end to poverty and to the violence that ravaged Juarez. I would no longer ignore the opportunities father Rick presented in mass, I resolved.
On the ride home it wasn't the thought of my mother's looming punishment for not cleaning my room that filled my mind, it was the image of the crying Gonzalez family.
As we crested the apex of the bridge I had crossed so many times before, my eyes were no longer focused on the mansions that surrounded my own home. Rather, my eyes were pressed up against the window, my gaze focused on the dirt roads to the south-west.
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